


Alone is a Subjective Term

by fangirl_squee



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Les Miserables Friendships July
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:27:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Marius,” Cosette catches his arm, drawing his attention, “you know you don’t have to go through this alone.”</p>
<p>“I know,” says Marius.</p>
<p>He’s not alone. Surrounded by Grantaire’s paintings, he never feels alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone is a Subjective Term

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on a fic idea tumblr user acenjolras had, so all due credit to xir for the amazing idea. Not to spoil the actual fic for you guys, but it was really, really, /really/ sad, and this was the result of trying to make myself feel better about it.

The phone rings weekly instead of daily now; Marius thinks they must have a roster for him. It’s almost funny.

 

“You should answer it, it’s Combeferre,” says Grantaire, head tipped backward to look at the caller ID from where he’s sprawled on the couch.

 

Marius is looking over some paperwork a boutique gallery has sent over. They want to host a few of Grantaire’s pieces, but the one they really want is already on loan to the Met in New York. Negotiations are proving annoying. “If it’s important, I’m sure he’ll call back.”

 

Grantaire sighs loudly and the paperwork flutters as if there were a breeze.

 

“If he does, you _still_ won’t answer it, will you?” When Marius doesn’t answer, he adds: “They’re just worried about you, you know.”

 

“I know,” says Marius, not looking up, “but they don’t need to be. I’m just busy.”

 

The phone stops ringing, and then starts again. Grantaire groans. “Just unplug it or something, it’s driving me _insane._ I’d do it, if I could reach the damn thing.”

 

The reason Grantaire can’t reach the phone, and the reason Combeferre is calling (again and again and again), are the same reason: because Grantaire is dead.

 

Grantaire is dead, and Marius doesn’t want to see anyone except his ghost.

 

 

Grantaire died, as close as the coroner could put it, on a warm afternoon two days before his body was found. Marius thinks about that sometimes, how he wasn’t there when Grantaire needed him most, what he might have been doing in the moment Grantaire died. It’s morbid, yes, but it’s better than forgetting Grantaire altogether. They’d been a strange sort of friends – they’d come from opposite walks of life and yet somehow ended up with the same sense of humour.

 

This might be the reason why he ends up in possession of Grantaire’s paintings. Marius has always loved Grantaire’s paintings – could talk to him about them for hours even though he didn’t really know or understand much about art – but he doesn’t really understand why Grantaire willed them to him of all people. Still, Grantaire wanted him to have them, so he takes them home. He lines them up around the walls of his room, looking at the parts of himself Grantaire has left behind.

 

He doesn’t remember much of the funeral, just a haze of sadness interspersed with people telling him that his eulogy (which he remembers writing but not giving) was beautiful. He has a vague memory of saying something overly-harsh to a red-eyed Enjolras and Enjolras punching him, and Combeferre and Bahorel holding him back. Marius left early, taking a long, wandering route to get back to his apartment. He remembers crawling into bed, too exhausted to even get under the covers.

 

When Marius wakes up, his shoes are neatly next to the bed and he’s been covered by a blanket. He frowns at it for a moment, before deciding he must have done it in his sleep.

 

There are a few messages from Les Amis on his answering machine, along with some arty friends of Grantaire’s. They want to borrow a few of the paintings for a small gallery showing of Grantaire’s work. Marius almost wants to keep them to himself, holding on to that last part of his friend. The galleries are pretty insistent, and Grantaire had always told Marius that _art should be for everyone_ (he almost feels like he can hear Grantaire saying that, a whisper in his ear), so in the end he loans out a some of the pieces.

 

The pieces are popular, more popular than Marius or Grantaire’s arty friends had expected. Marius starts getting calls from bigger and bigger galleries, galleries from out of state, out of the country even. Gallery managers and curators ask for his input on the biography notes, on what to put in their brochures, on what painting should hang which order. One of them semi-jokingly says he should write a book, and he actually starts to, collecting articles he’s written on Grantaire and trying to get them to form something cohesive about Grantaire’s life. It feels bizarre.

 

There’s only one painting that Marius refuses to loan out: Grantaire’s last work, unfinished. It hangs in front of Marius’ desk at home, something to look at during long conference calls and even longer nights when he can’t sleep. There’s a sloppy-looking ‘R’ in the bottom corner, the last thing Grantaire ever painted, the end of it running off the canvas. Marius traces the ‘R’ lightly with a finger sometimes, thinking. He wonders what Grantaire would think about people fussing over his work, what he would say to the free flights and plush hotel rooms. Marius thinks he’d probably just laugh.

 

Throughout it all, Marius gets calls from Les Amis. Those, he ignores. At first, it’s because seeing them feels too raw. Later, it’s because he’s out of the habit of talking to them (or, at least, that’s what he tells himself as the caller ID flashes). He’s too busy to talk about how he’s feeling.

 

Although, really, how do they _think_ he’s feeling – his best friend is _dead_ , and Marius misses him so much it’s like a physical pain. It’s like Grantaire is a phantom limb. He keeps turning to say something to Grantaire or bringing up his number, only to remember that Grantaire isn’t there.

 

It’s strange though, sometimes when he wakes up in the night it’s almost like he’s been woken up by Grantaire’s voice, like he can hear it echoing in his ears. He makes himself a cup of tea, sits on the floor in front of Grantaire’s last painting, and wonders what it was going to be.

 

He’s leaving his apartment to get to the airport, distracted as he tries to remember if he’s got all his relevant paperwork to get through customs. This is why he doesn’t see Cosette coming until it’s too late to avoid her.

 

“We’re just worried about you,” says Cosette, trying and failing to catch his eye, “you haven’t spoken to anyone for weeks.”

 

Marius desperately wishes the taxi would arrive. “I’ve just been busy. I’m _fine_ , Cosette, _really_.”

 

“Marius,” Cosette catches his arm, drawing his attention, “you know you don’t have to go through this alone.”

 

“I know,” says Marius.

 

He’s not alone. Surrounded by Grantaire’s paintings, he never feels alone.

 

 

The first time Marius sees him, he’s talking to the manager of the gallery that’s hosting Grantaire’s work as they set up for a gala. The manager was asking him questions about the history of Grantaire’s work, asking Marius if he wouldn’t mind writing something on it for the museum’s brochure, when Marius looks to the bar. If he’d been holding anything, he would have dropped it – as it is, he barely manages to stop himself from dropping to the floor in shock. Grantaire is leaning against the bar, looking longingly as one of the waiters pours wine.

 

Marius manages to excuse himself quickly, promising to email the manager a draft of something later in the week, and approaches with caution. “Grantaire?”

 

Grantaire looks just as surprised as Marius. “Marius? You can see me?”

 

Marius gives a small nod, aware that the waiter has started to give him a strange look. “Sorry,” he says to the waiter, “headset call. Is there somewhere I can take this?”

 

The waiter points to the stairwell door, and thankfully Grantaire follows. Marius hopes his hair is long enough to cover the fact that he isn’t wearing any sort of headset. When Marius closes the door to the stairwell, and when he turns, Grantaire is standing in front of him. Grantaire reaches out to Marius, but his hand goes right through him. It feels a little like being touched by a cool breeze.

 

“How are you here? Are you really here?” says Marius, trying to keep his voice low.

 

“I don’t know, is probably my answer to both. One moment I was looking at a half-finished canvas feeling like absolute shit, and the next thing I know I was looking down at my own body,” says Grantaire. “I kind of thought I was still asleep for a while. Until Cosette broke down my door.”

 

They’re both quiet for a moment. Marius wishes he could put an arm around Grantaire like he used to and ruffle his hair to startle a laugh (or at least a smile) out of him.

 

“So,” says Grantaire, “I didn’t know you could see dead people.”

 

“Neither did I,” says Marius.

 

Grantaire smiles weakly. “Well, aren’t we both just full of surprises?”

 

Marius smiles back at him.

 

After the gala is over, Marius takes Grantaire around the gallery, holding his switched-off mobile to his ear as they talk about the paintings. Grantaire seems surprised at how successful they are.

 

“You’re like the new Picasso,” says Marius.

 

Grantaire barks a laugh, and a glass falls off a nearby table. Neither of them notice, too caught up with being able to talk to each other again.

 

 

At first Grantaire hangs around to help with the article Marius has been asked to write for the gallery, checking over his shoulder for inaccuracies and telling him little anecdotes for some of the older pieces. He raises his eyebrows at Marius’ book draft.

 

“I was asked to write it,” says Marius, “I don’t have to, if you’d rather I didn’t?”

 

“No, it’s fine,” says Grantaire, “I just can’t believe anyone would read a book on my life. I’m not that interesting.”

 

“People tell me that you’re fascinating daily,” says Marius. “There needs to be a book on you, if only for the sole reason of being able to send something comprehensive to grad students who call me with questions.”

 

“Grad students?”

 

Marius nods, turning his attention back to his emails (six new requests overnight for paintings, eight asking for articles, and four asking if he’s available to give a lecture on Grantaire’s art). “There’s at least three of them currently using your work, and by extension _you_ , as part of their final thesis.”

 

Grantaire leans on the back of Marius’ chair, reading over his shoulder as he types (Marius feels nothing, maybe a slight chill across his shoulders). “They really couldn’t think of anyone else to focus on?”

 

“Face it, you’re famous now, the people love you,” says Marius. “Now, which painting did you want to send the gallery in Greece?”

 

When Marius leaves for Greece, Grantaire leaves with him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For more information about Les Miserables Friendships July: http://acenjolras.tumblr.com/post/54385289459/yaaaaay-fun-projects-okay-for-this-month-were
> 
>  
> 
> and any feedback is always appreciated: fangirl-squee.tumblr.com/ask


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